


All Our Songs Are Tragedies

by WhiteFoxKitsune (ProwlingThunder)



Series: The Everlasting List of Shenanigans [98]
Category: Invasion America
Genre: Gen, Sad Lullabies, canon compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/WhiteFoxKitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt!Fill.</p><p>Rita bullies Rafe into soothing a restless princeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Our Songs Are Tragedies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silvre](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Silvre).



> Prompt: Father's Lullaby

The first years of his life, David had been a mostly quiet baby. Rita had no trouble keeping up with him despite it, and Cale was thrilled to sing their son to bed. It wasn't until after Cale left that things started catching. For days, David refused to sleep; he ran both Rafe and her ragged, patience worn thin to wits end. Nothing she could do would sooth him, and every time he wailed, Rafe fled.

She finally gave up one night. Caught their guardian with a sharp look, rooting him to the spot, and then pressed the wailing tot into his arms. “Sing.”

Rafe looked more bewildered by the request then indignation. “I do not--”

“Sing!” Rita hissed at him, expression tight. She hadn't slept in over a week. But she watched Rafe fumble a bit, words catching, and then heard his honey-thick voice work out the first verse of a song Cale had always sang. Slowly at first, hesitant and jerky, and then it smoothed as it rounded the second, repeating tones like a verbal carousel.

Finally it worked. She did not know if it was the song, or the tone, or the fact that David's head rested on Rafe's breastbone, but it worked. He stilled and closed his eyes, and his breathing settled in slumber. He was also sucking his thumb, but Rita had asked for miracles in the first place. At least he was asleep.

She slanted a tired, harried look at Rafe, who stared down at the young prince in an expression probably not too far from horror. “..it worked... What did you sing?”

Rafe swallowed convulsively. “Lament,” he said, voice cracking just a bit. “For Our God The King Is Dead.”


End file.
